Abandon All Hope
by Little.Miss.Xanda
Summary: During three decades he had hoped for a change. He had waited, and watched, and prayed. Then one day he woke up, and realized just how futile hoping was.


**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made.

 **Written for The Hogwarts Talent Show Competition – Round 2**

 **Challenge: Art** – More or less what it says on the tin. This round is all about letting art inspire your writing, whether that be a painting, installation or sculpture. Choose from one of the works listed below, and let it be your muse for this round!

 **Picked:** "Dark Ages" by Jonas De Ro

 **Warnings:** Death, violence, torture.

More or less AU since I completely disregard what J.K. said in the third book about no witch or wizard being hurt in the witch hunts. Come on, who could really believe that? Let's face it wizards and witches are pretty helpless when they don't have their wands. It isn't that hard to imagine them losing it, or the muggles breaking it. Aside from that you have all those muggleborns that may not have been trained, or had no wand. And what about the children? Muggleborn children and their accidental magic could have easily been detected. And even purebloods, or half-bloods could easily be caught because of their children doing accidental magic, any mother, or father, would have taken the blame for it – and I doubt they would have said that it had been their child. So... yeah, completely disregarding what J.K. said about that in book three.

 **Word Count:** 2948 according to Open Office

 **Past -** _This happened in the past._

 **Present -** This is present.

* * *

 **Abandon All Hope**

 _He startled awake. It took a moment for him to realize that something was wrong, sleep still fogging his mind. He heard the shouting, something breaking, and he did what his momma told him to do every single night before he fell asleep._

 _His momma always sounded so scared when she spoke to him on those occasions, so he made sure to remember every word._

 _He got out of the bed, trying to be as silent as possible, and crawled under it. His little fingers dug into the wooden boards, trying to find the right one, the one that would open up to his little hidey hole. His hands ghosted over the engraving his momma had put on it, and he pulled with as much strength as his small body had._

 _He tried to ignore the shouts that were coming closer, the sound of feet stomping in his direction. It was easier than one might think since the beating of his heart was almost loud enough to drown out everything else._

 _Just when he managed to move the wooden plaque, the door to his room was busted open._

 _He heard screams, his momma shouting his name, and then there were hands. Grabbing, pulling him from under the bed._

 _He tried to fight it, holding onto the little grooves on the wood with as much strength as he had. Even when his fingernails broke, and his fingers bled, he didn't let go._

 _The bed was shoved away and light invaded his eyes, momentarily blinding him. Someone stepped on his hands, and his scream joined the multitude of voices in the room._

 _The last thing he heard before darkness claimed him was his momma's screams._

He startled awake. It took a moment for him to realize that something was wrong, sleep still fogging his mind. He closed his eyes, trying to sense what had woken him, when he felt it. The wards had been disturbed.

He jumped out of bed, and raced out of his room. He ran into his brother, guessing that he had been woken by the same disturbance, and both made their way towards the common room. He spared a brief thought to wondering where his sisters were before he brushed it away. They would either be in the infirmary or in the kitchen.

The door moved as soon as they were close enough. They walked in, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible.

As soon as they stepped into the room their eyes locked on a small huddled form in a corner of the room. Neither he nor his brother recognized the child, so they knew he wasn't one of theirs, but the portkey held tightly in his hands, as if it were a life-line, was something they were rather familiar with. It was something they gave to all their children.

Now they would just need to know why this particular child had it.

 _When he came to, it was dark._ _He was so disoriented that it took him a minute to realize that it wasn't actually dark outside, he was just locked in a windowless room. He huddled into a corner, fear gripping him when he remembered just how he had ended up there. Where was his momma? Had they hurt his momma? Would they hurt him? Who were they? What did they want with him?_

 _He almost jumped out of his skin when there was a loud bang, and light streamed into his little cell._

 _He squinted at the light, raising his hands trying to shield his eyes._

 _He could make out a man, dressed in black, who seemed to be chanting something in a language that he heard in church when he went with his momma. The man threw water at him, and he scuttled back, confused by everything that was happening. Where's momma? He wanted to scream at them. Give me momma! But no words left his mouth, and the chanting from the man only grew in intensity. Then it stopped, and he was left in darkness once again._

 _Time went by, at least he thought it did. He didn't know. There was nothing but darkness and the man._

 _His stomach ached from the hunger, his skin itched from the grime stuck to it. He shuddered from the cold that shrouded his body like Death's embrace. His momma had always told him not to fear Death, that Death was kind, a blessing to many. And he tried, he really did, but he was hungry, and cold, and he hurt, and he wanted his momma. He feared. He hoped his momma wouldn't be too disappointed in him._

 _The man dressed in black came again. There was no chanting, no water. He was dragged out of his tiny cell, the bright light hurting his eyes. He was pushed in front of a bigger cell, his frail body collapsing as soon as there were no hands holding him._

 _The scream of his name had him looking up, only for his eyes to widen._

" _Momma!" he screamed, dragging himself towards the bars of the cell separating him from his momma._

 _His momma pulled on the chains holding her to the wall of the cell, the heavy metal cutting into her flesh and making rivulets of blood stream down her arms._

 _She looked dirty, her clothes torn and bloodied, but she was still strong. He didn't know what they had done to his momma but she was still holding on._

 _A loud crack filled the room, and pain raced down his back. Then another, and another. His screams were drowned out by his momma's yells. He had barely enough strength to hold on to the bars of the cell. Every whip crack was accompanied by a plea from his momma._

" _Stop it!" that final shout had the whip stopping, and he knew that the men were looking at his momma, assessing, waiting. His momma ignored them, she had only eyes for him. "I love you, baby. Momma loves you, don't ever forget that. Momma loves you so, so much. Be brave, be strong. Grow up to be the great man I know you will be."_

" _Momma," the whisper was almost too low to hear but his momma smiled at him. The same smile she gave him when she was telling him that she would protect him, that she wouldn't let anything, or anyone harm him. The same smile she had when she tucked him in at night, and told him she loved him. It was the smile he loved best on his momma._

 _Then her expression turned into a blank mask and she looked at the men behind him._

" _It's me." He had never heard his momma's voice sounding so cold. "I'm the witch. Leave the boy alone, he knows nothing."_

 _His eyes widened._

" _No! Momma!" he struggled against the hands holding him back. He ignored every stab of agony that flared through his body when he moved. "Momma!"_

 _Rough hands grabbed him, pulled him away from the bars, and threw him back into his little windowless hole._

" _Momma!" he continued to scream, pounding tiny fists against the door._

 _Momma wasn't a witch! She wasn't! He was the one that did freaky things, he was the one that had always had strange things happening to him. It wasn't momma! Momma had always told him not to tell a soul, that it would be a secret just between them. That no one should know. Momma had told him to promise her, and he had. And he wouldn't tell those men, he had promised his momma! But he couldn't let momma get hurt because of him, he couldn't._

" _Momma!"_

With slow, careful steps they approached the child. He looked young, too young to be one of theirs. With every step they took the child curled in on himself even more, and his trembling grew.

He shared a concerned look with his brother. This couldn't mean anything good.

"Shh." He knelt beside the child. "We mean you no harm. You are safe here, we promise." He kept his voice as soothing as possible. It broke his heart to see the child fear them so. It was nothing new, of course.

Situations such as these were popping up more and more. It was always a struggle to get the children to trust them at first. It was always so hard to make them believe that there were people out there that meant them no harm.

He didn't blame them, he knew how they felt. He had first hand experience with the darkness that lurked in the human heart.

"Brother said you were safe." The whisper was almost too low for them to hear. "Brother gave me this, and said 'sanctuary' and then I was here, and brother was gone, and bad men were in our home."

The child looked at them, tears forming in his eyes.

"They took mummy, and daddy, and brother."

His brother closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping slightly. He knew just how hard it was for his brother, it was just as hard for him. Conversations like these were becoming the norm, and it left both of them feeling helpless.

Now though, looking at the little boy huddling in front of them, grabbing onto a piece of rope as if it were the most valuable thing in the world, something in him snapped.

Hadn't they suffered enough? Hadn't they lost enough?

He would not stand by and watch another child lose everything. He _couldn't_ , not anymore.

"Little one," he murmured, concealing every trace of the turmoil raging inside him. "Where is your village?"

He felt his brother's eyes on him. Then a hand gripped his shoulder, and he knew he wouldn't be going alone.

 _He had screamed himself raw, only stopping when he tasted blood in his mouth. His momma's screams had gone on for much longer. Now the only sound left was the lingering echo of her pain. He was afraid of what that silence meant. Had they left momma alone? Would they be back for her? Would they be back for him?_

 _He was hurt, and afraid, and he just wanted his momma._

 _Why couldn't the men just leave them be? Momma had never hurt anyone. Never. Momma was kind and sweet. She was the best momma in the world._

 _Why did they hurt her? Why did they hurt him? Momma wasn't a witch. She wasn't evil._

 _He curled up in a ball, sobs wracking his aching body._

 _He just wanted his momma._

"Are you sure about this?" his brother asked him, while they made their way outside after having alerted their sisters.

"Yes." He looked at his brother, letting him see the emotions swimming in his eyes. "We should have done something sooner. This was supposed to be a safe place for them. We are supposed to protect them!"

"I know." His brother sighed, grief marring his features. "Seeing less and less of our children come back every year is the worst feeling I have ever experienced. How can they do this to them? They're so young."

"Fear," he replied. "They fear what they do not understand. They seek to destroy it in any way they can. Come, brother, time is against us."

His brother nodded, any trace of grief hidden away.

They looked one last time at the imposing walls of their home, their sanctuary, then with a near silent pop they were gone.

 _There were screams, shouts, and he scurried further into the corner, in a futile attempt to find some protection. He didn't know how long it had been, it felt like years to him. He knew it wasn't. He would have been dead a long time ago if it had been years._

 _Now he understood what his momma meant. Death truly was kind._

 _The yelling abruptly stopped. He stayed perfectly still, though he was unsure if it was because he wanted to, or because his body was far too weak to move._

 _The door to his cell was ripped open, and he tried to shield his eyes from the light._

 _There was a moment of silence, then a deep voice uttered a small prayer._

 _The light that was coming into his room was blocked, and he saw a tall, well-muscle man walk into his cell. He walked slowly, his hands raised in front of him. There was movement behind the man, and he saw a boy, a few years older than him, shuffle inside. They looked alike, so he thought that they were probably family._

" _Child." The man's voice was deep and soft, nothing like the other men. "Child, my name is Godfrey. Beside me is my son, Godric. Can you talk, child? Can you tell us your name?"_

 _He tried speaking, but all that came was a raspy, gurgling sound. He winced at the pain it caused._

 _The man took a step closer, and he flattened himself against the wall._

" _Shh. It's alright. I will not hurt you. Will you let me heal you?" The man took out a long stick, showing it to him. He didn't know why he was doing that, but he nodded his head. He was hurt, he was afraid, but the man wasn't being mean. He was even offering to heal him._

 _His eyes widened when a soft blue light came from the man's stick, and surrounded him. It felt warm and safe. He closed his eyes in bliss. He didn't want for this feeling to stop. Ever. All too quickly it came to an end, and he opened his eyes. His green ones locking with the blue ones in front of him._

 _Momma always said that the eyes were the window to the soul._

 _The man had very kind eyes._

" _Can you tell us your name now, child?"_

" _Salazar," it was a raspy whisper, but at least his throat didn't hurt him anymore._

" _Salazar, that is a good, strong name." The man nodded. Salazar had been so focused on the man that he hadn't noticed the man's son moving until he was right in front of him._

" _Here." The voice wasn't as deep as his father's, though it certainly had the potential to become. "You should drink a little water. It will do you some good."_

 _He hesitated for a moment, afraid that it was a trap, but the blue eyes looking at him were just as kind as the other ones; so he took the offered water, spilling a good amount in his eagerness to drink it._

 _The boy, Godric, leaned back, giving him his space._

" _Salazar." He looked back at the man. "Do you know where your parents are?"_

" _Don't have papa. The men hurt Momma. Momma said she was a witch. She wasn't, Momma wasn't evil!"_

 _Tears streamed down his cheeks, his agitation increasing the shudders wracking his body._

" _Shh, shh. It's alright. Everything's alright." The man walked closer, picking him up and wrapping him in his arms, being careful of the whip marks on his back. "I'm sorry, little one. So sorry."_

" _Where's Momma?" he asked weakly, his voice mostly muffled by the broad chest of the man holding him._

 _He felt the man take a deep breath, while the arms around him tightened slightly._

" _The men that took your mother and you, they were bad people. I am sorry I didn't come in time to save her."_

 _He had already suspected it, he had feared it._

 _Sobs racked his body while the man murmured calming words into his ear. He felt more than saw the man taking him out of his little cell, out of the room that had many more cells, and finally out into the open sky._

 _He looked up when the fresh air hit his face, only to cry out at what he saw. It may be far away, but he would recognize that crimson hair anywhere._

" _Momma!" he tried to leave the arms holding him. He needed to get his momma down from there. He couldn't let her stay there. He_ couldn't _!_

" _Salazar, I promise I will come back and take care of her. Give her a proper burial, but, please, let me take care of you now."_

 _Salazar looked at the man holding him, he saw nothing but honesty in those eyes. He slumped tiredly against the hard chest, and gave a small nod._

 _He would trust the man to take care of his momma._

"No. Please, no." Salazar murmured when they arrived at the small village and saw the three bodies hanging from the rafters. It was one of his children, one of his Slytherins. The boy was so bright, always so happy. He was only twelve years old.

How could they do this? How could they call themselves righteous? How could these people just stand here and applaud the death of such a bright, caring soul?

He had hoped that he wouldn't have to save another child like Godfrey had saved him.

He had hoped that after three decades things would have changed.

He had hoped...

Maybe it was time to stop hoping.

"Salazar." Only when Godric laid a calming hand on his arm did he notice how much he was trembling. His brother's gentle blue eyes were darkened in rage, and that just made him hate these people even more.

His wand appeared in his hand.

He raised it.

In a bright green light the first body hit the ground.

A bright red spell raced passed him, and screams filled the air.

They had a newly orphaned child to comfort back home, but for the moment they would show these _righteous_ people the wrath of a wizard.


End file.
